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LILIES AND VIOLETS. 



LILIES AND VIOLETS 



EASTER DAY 



BY / 

MAY RILEY SMITH, 

h 

Author of ''^ Sometime.''' 



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^ APR IB^ ^ 



■mm. 



NEW YORK : 
ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY. 



(Copyright, 1886, by Anson D. F. Randolph & Company.) 



EASTER DAY. 

O SAD, sad soul, fling wide your doors, 
And make your windows curtainless ! 

Strew odours on your silent floors, 
And all your walls with lilies dress ! 

Throw open every sombre place ; 

Roll every hindering stone away ! 
Let Easter sunshine gild your face, 

And bless you with its warmth to-day ! 

Let friends renew each by-gone hour, 
Let children fling the world a kiss : 

And every hand tie in some flower, 
To crown a day so good as this ! 

And whether skies are sad or clear, 
We'll give the day to joy and song : 

For since the Christ is surely here, 

All things are right, and naught is wrong! 



O BELLS IN THE STEEPLE. 

O BELLS in the steeple, 

Ring out to all people 
That Christ has arisen, that Jesus is here ! 

Touch heaven's blue ceiling 

With your happy pealing, 
O bells in the steeple, ring out full and clear! 

O soft April showers, 

Call out the young flowers, 
Touch each little sleeper, and bid her obey ! 

Set daffodils blowing. 

And fresh grasses growing, 
To thrill the old world on this new Easter-day ! 

O lilies so stately, 

Like maids tall and shapely, 
Christ loved you, and talked of your beauty of old ! 

Stand up in your places, 

And bend your white faces. 
While swinging before Him your censers of gold ! 

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O violets tender, 

Your shy tribute render ! 
Tie round your wet faces your soft hoods of blue ; 

And carry your sweetness, 

Your dainty completeness, 
To some tired hand that is longing for you. 

O velvet-bloomed willows. 

Go comfort sick pillows 
With visions of meadow-lands, peaceful and brown ! 

The breath of Spring lingers 

Within your cold fingers. 
And the brook's song is caught in your fringes of down. 

O world, bowed and broken 

With anguish unspoken. 
Take heart and be glad, for the Lord is not dead ! 

On some bright to-morrow, 

Your black cloud of sorrow 
Will break in a sweet rain of joy on your head ! 

O bells in the steeple, 

Ring out to all people. 
That Christ has arisen, that Jesus is here ! 

Touch heaven's blue ceiling 

With your happy pealing ; 
O bells in the steeple, ring out full and clear! 



SOME VIOLETS. 

Dear friend, I give thee violets ; 

And for my fee, 
The fragrant secret of thy life 

Disclose to me. 

For through it, like a guiding thread, 

I scent the rue ; 
And faintly track the odorous feet 

Of heart's-ease too. 

Reach down on patient cords to me 

Thy brimming cup 
Of wise, sweet thoughts, that I may drink, 

And thus toil up 

To where thou art, so meekly high, 

So far away. 
I can but kiss my eager hands 

To thee to-day. 
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Or, if I may not reach so high, 

Then be it so ; 
If I may sit beside thy feet, 

'Twill not be low. 

And, listening soft, my soul may catch. 

In some far sense. 
The tuneful impulse of a life 

Serene, intense. 

Ah, me ! I do but spoil my work 

With clumsy phrase ; 
And mar, with my uncultured speech, 

Where I would praise. 

So I will lay my heart's-ease down 

At thy kind feet ; 
Regretting sore their broken stems, 

Their vanished sweet. 

Yet praying that their faded blue 

Some type may be 
Of the fair badge my heart shall wear 

Always for thee ! 
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